


Enough

by prouvaireafterdark



Series: Greener With The Scenery [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Needs to Hug Michael Guerin, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Don't copy to another site, Forgiveness, Getting Back Together, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, Michael Guerin Needs a Hug, Mild Sexual Content, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts (more hinted at than explicitly stated)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvaireafterdark/pseuds/prouvaireafterdark
Summary: “Come on, Guerin.” He takes Michael by the bicep and starts to pull him off his stool. “It’s time to go.”Michael turns in his seat toward Alex. “Alright, fine,” he agrees, sliding off the barstool and moving passed him, close enough that their chests rub together as he says, smelling like a goddamn nail salon, “Take me home then, Private.”Alex shakes his head in disbelief and follows Michael out the door.***Alternatively, the one where Michael has an emotional breakdown that's long overdue and he and Alex get their chance to heal together.





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially going to be smut, but then we swung violently into feels territory so I felt like maybe it would be better to not. I just really wanted to explore what Michael's emotional state would be like after Caulfield and Max and how Alex might be able to be there for him during that time.
> 
> Obviously, here there be angst (honestly with this ship is that really a surprise?), but there's a healthy dose of comfort at the end. Come cry about it with me in the comments!

Alex is in the bunker, poring over the files they pulled from Caulfield, when he gets the call.

It’s been a week since Michael stood him up. A week since Max…

Alex can’t even bring himself to finish that thought. He sighs heavily, wiping a hand over his face, as if that will do anything to alleviate the exhaustion sinking deep into his bones. He hasn’t had a decent night of sleep in ages.

His phone goes off on the desk in front of him, the vibrations loud enough to shock him out of his maudlin thoughts. He glances over at it and sees Maria’s name on the caller ID. He almost doesn’t pick up, afraid of what she’ll say. The last time she called, it hadn’t been with the best news.

With a resigned sigh, he answers the call.

“What?” Alex asks, and winces at how harsh his voice is. He’s not trying to be short with her, but he’s tired and hurt and in this moment it doesn’t matter that Maria told Michael to back off after he came by that night; she’s still the one he went to. As much as Alex loves Maria, as much as he knows they’ll work through whatever bullshit Michael’s done to their friendship eventually, he’d really rather not be talking to her right now.

“_Hey_,” she says, and over the line he can hear the usual commotion of the Wild Pony and the clickety-clack of Maria’s rings against the glass pendant always wears.

_Well_, he remembers with a touch of bitterness, _almost always wears_.

“What’s up?” He can hear her sigh on the other end.

“_Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know who else to call_.”

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess where she’s headed with this. Alex hasn’t been witness to it much himself, but he knows Michael’s been on a bender since he and Isobel failed to bring Max back to life. He feels guilty that he’s not there for Michael whenever he lets himself think about it too long, feels the ache of it in the pit of his stomach, but he reminds himself that this is how Michael wants it.

Besides, someone has to focus on sifting through all his dad’s dirty, genocidal secrets; it may as well be him.

“How much has he had?” Alex asks, already standing up and grabbing his car keys from where he’d tossed them on the table earlier.

“_Enough,_” she says. “_I cut him off and tried to call him a cab, but he won’t hear anything about it.” _Maria gasps and there’s a commotion over the phone_. “What the _hell_ are you doing, Guerin?!” _Maria whisper-yells, and then speaks to him again. _“He literally just started drinking acetone straight from the bottle. I don’t know how much longer I can handle him and my bar at the same time.”_

Alex is suddenly _very_ glad they told Maria about the Pod Squad a few days ago. He doesn’t want to think about how this would have played out if she wasn’t already in the know about weird alien metabolisms.

“Jesus,” Alex says. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

It’s a forty-five minute drive to the Wild Pony from the bunker. He makes it there in a little under thirty.

It’s late, but the parking lot is packed. Alex sees Michael’s truck parked right near the entrance, which tells him he’s probably been here all night.

When Alex steps inside, he finds Michael slumped over the bar, all the way on the left end. He’s still hurt and more than a little angry, but seeing Michael like that just tears him up inside. Alex has experienced a lot of grief and trauma over the course of his life, more than his fair share, but he knows he can’t even begin to understand the depths of Michael’s pain right now.

Maria is pushing a pint glass full of water at him as Alex approaches. There’s another one about a quarter full of something clear to the right of him, but Alex isn’t sure if it’s water or acetone.

“Come on, Guerin,” Maria says, nudging his elbow with the glass. “Drink up.”

Michael groans and shakes his head against the wood. He doesn’t react to Alex at all, not even when he sits down in the seat beside him. Alex shares a look with Maria and she smiles sympathetically before she steps away to bring a pitcher of beer to the table of college-age kids in the back.

“Guerin,” Alex says, softly. He sees Michael’s entire body stiffen before he slowly lifts his head from the bar and turns to look at him. His eyes are puffy and his nose is red and he looks like absolute garbage, but he’s still the most beautiful man Alex has ever seen.

Michael doesn’t say anything for a long few seconds. Alex watches his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice hoarse. He doesn’t slur his words, which is a good sign.

“I’m here to take you home,” he says, and Michael laughs, a sharp and bitter sound.

“And where’s that?” he asks, brow drawing tight. He reaches for the glass less full than the one Alex watched Maria give him, but Alex snatches it up first. He wafts it under his nose. Acetone. “_Hey_-“ Michael protests, but Alex is already pouring it on the floor. He’ll have to apologize to Maria for that later, but at this point he’s got bigger problems—like the six foot tall telekinetic alien glaring at him like it’s going out of style.

“You’ve had _enough_, Guerin,” Alex says with all the force he can muster. Michael is still glaring defiantly at him, so Alex takes a breath to collect himself and tries a different tactic. “Look, I know you’re hurting right now, but drinking yourself under the table isn’t a solution to your problems.”

Michael gets an infuriatingly smug look on his face all of a sudden that tells Alex he’s about to be a smartass, so he cuts him off before he can speak. “I swear, if the words ‘Well, technically, alcohol _is_ a solution’ come out of your mouth I am going to fireman carry you to my car.”

Michael laughs, genuinely amused this time, but makes no move to get up. He’s fixing Alex with a heated gaze he’s well familiar with and Alex curses himself. He hadn’t meant it like _that_. “That a promise?” he asks, a flirtatious edge to the words.

Alex is not amused.

“You don’t wanna find out,” he says.

“I really think I do,” Michael replies, letting his eyes trail a path down Alex’s body in a way that leaves no doubt what he’s thinking. It’s like Michael has a direct line to his libido, sending a little pulse of _want_ through him that Alex has to work to keep off his face. He shakes his head, reminding himself what he’s here for and why things are the way they are between them right now.

“Come on, Guerin.” He takes Michael by the bicep and starts to pull him off his stool. “It’s time to go.”

Michael turns in his seat toward Alex. “Alright, fine,” he agrees, sliding off the barstool and moving passed him, close enough that their chests rub together as he says, smelling like a goddamn nail salon, “Take me home then, Private.”

Alex shakes his head in disbelief and follows Michael out the door.

The ride to the Airstream is quiet. Alex half expects Michael to continue with the sexual innuendos the whole way there, but instead he just leans against his passenger side door, staring blankly out the window. Alex catches him rubbing mindlessly at the newly healed knuckles of his left hand under the black bandana he wears now and he isn’t sure whether that’s any better.

When they pull up outside the trailer, Michael makes no move to get out of the car. Alex cuts the engine and waits. He thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep, but when Alex says his name, Michael quickly wipes at his eyes and moves to get out of the car. He misjudges the height of the step, still a little off balance from everything he’s had to drink, and falls out, hitting the ground hard.

“Michael!” Alex shouts, jumping out of the driver’s seat. He runs to the other side of the vehicle to find Michael slowly pushing himself up off the ground. Alex helps him up, dusts off his shoulders a little once he’s fully vertical. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says looking a million miles away. Alex checks his palms to make sure he hasn’t skinned them. The touch seems to have made Michael refocus on him because once Alex is satisfied he isn’t bleeding and looks up to Michael’s face he sees his gaze has fixed on their joined hands. Michael’s eyes are wide and wet when Alex lets them go.

“Come on,” he says, nodding his head toward the Airstream. Michael follows him without a word.

Inside, Alex steers Michael toward the bed and sits him down on the edge. The place is a mess, even more so than usual. There’s dirty laundry and papers with calculations littered across just about every flat surface, coffee stains all over them. Whatever Michael’s been doing when he’s not binge-drinking has certainly kept him busy.

Michael shrugs out of his jacket while Alex rifles through the cabinets until he finds a large plastic cup. He fills it to the brim with water from the tap and offers it to Michael. Alex is grateful when he accepts it without complaint and takes a sip.

“Go on, drink up,” Alex says, when he doesn’t take another. “I’m not going anywhere until you finish it.”

Michael looks away from him and stares into the cup. “Doesn’t give me much incentive to finish it, does it?” he says, so soft Alex almost doesn’t hear it.

Alex swallows around the lump in his throat. With everything that had happened after Caulfield, Alex thought Michael didn’t want anything to do with him. Had he misread him? He doesn’t know how much more of these mixed messages he can take. “Please, Guerin,” he says, and he’s honestly not even sure what exactly he’s asking for.

Michael seems to have an idea, or he thinks he does, anyway. “Right,” he sniffs, raising the glass to his lips, looking very intently at the wall in front of him while he drinks. He downs the water quickly and then Alex has no more excuses for why he’s still standing there.

Maybe he _should_ go, give them both some space. He doesn’t though. Looking at Michael sitting there with tears clinging to his lashes, doing his best to keep it together while there’s a witness present, Alex finds he just _can’t_ leave him. Not when he’s hurting like this. Not when Michael is probably going to dull his pain with another drink or five the minute he leaves. Not when Alex has walked away too many times before.

Michael seems to notice Alex hasn’t moved. His eyes return to him and he lifts the empty cup, turning it over unnecessarily to prove he’s finished it.

“You did your job, Alex,” Michael says, fixing him with a hard stare. The effect is ruined by the tremor in his voice. “I’m home and hydrated, just like you wanted. You can go now.” He tosses the plastic cup on the floor.

Alex watches it roll until it stops up against the cabinet. Alex picks it up and places it in the sink.

“No.” Alex leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. A surprised look crosses Michael’s face.

“Why not?”

_Because you need me as much as I need you. Because we’re family. Because I love you. _

“Because you’re not okay right now,” Alex answers.

Michael laughs humorlessly, more tears filling his eyes. “Have I ever been?” He lets the question hang in the air for a few seconds before he adds, “Never stopped you from walking away before.”

Alex feels like he’s been physically slapped. Michael’s never pulled any punches, he doesn’t know why he’d stop now, but the worst part is that he’s _right_. It doesn’t matter that he was sometimes coerced or unwittingly manipulated into it. It doesn’t matter that he was scared and didn’t know what else to do. Michael needed him and he wasn’t there. He’ll carry the weight of that guilt for the rest of his life.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “You’re right. You’re right and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t—” Alex’s voice breaks, his own tears pricking at his eyes, and he cuts himself off, afraid he’ll cry before he says what he needs to. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I know I fucked up. If I could go back and change things, stop my dad from getting in my head so I could be there for you in every way I wasn’t, then I would, but I can’t. What I can do is be here for you now. I’m not going anywhere until you’re sober, and then we can have a nice long talk about how you’re going to get clean.”

“What?” Michael scoffs. “I can handle myself, Alex. Been doing it my whole life just fine without your help.”

“You think this is ‘fine’? You’re a mess, Guerin,” Alex presses. “You can’t carry on like this.”

“Gee, _thanks_,” Michael mutters. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“God, would you _listen_ to me?” Alex raises his voice. “You don’t know what drinking that shit really does to you! You can’t just self-medicate your way through grief, you could get yourself killed!”

“Well,” Michael says, deadly calm, “maybe that’s just what I deserve.”

That stops Alex short. “_What?_” Fear takes his breath and thrusts his heart into overdrive, his blood ringing in his ears.

Michael stands up to face him, a defiant and tortured look on his face.

“Everyone I love leaves me. You. Max. My mom,” his voice shakes more with every word. “Everything I touch turns to shit and no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, it’s _never_ enough. They’re gone because of _me_.”

“No, I left because of my_ father, _because I wasn’t strong enough to keep him out of my head. And what happened to your mom and Max wasn’t your fault,” Alex says, as firmly as he can. “You can’t believe that.”

“Can’t I? If I’d fought harder to investigate whether other aliens survived the crash, I might’ve found her sooner and been able to save her. If I’d stayed with Max and forced him to see why resurrecting Rosa was a stupid fucking idea, he’d still be alive.”

“You don’t know that,” Alex argues. “My father’s men could have just as easily killed you—or _worse_—as soon as you got near them! And Max agreed to leave Rosa be. If you’d thought for even a second—”

“I should have fucking known he’d do it anyway, I should’ve—“

“You can’t take responsibility for his actions,” Alex counters, and he knows it’s a cheap shot, but he’s scared and doesn’t know what else to say, so he says, “Max wouldn’t want you to—“

“Max is _dead_, Alex!” Michael yells, sounding every bit as anguished as Alex is sure he is. “He doesn’t _want_ anything!”

Alex’s words die in his throat. He just stands there, watching Michael’s chest heave with labored breaths, eyes wild with grief.

“Michael.” The name slips out soft and pleading before he can catch himself.

“Oh, so it’s _Michael_ now, huh?” he asks, incredulous and devastated all at once. “Don’t manipulate me like that. It’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you.” Alex takes a step closer. When Michael doesn’t move away, he chances another step, until they’re standing a foot apart. He doesn’t dare touch him, not yet. “I’m just scared, Michael. I don’t want to lose you.”

Michael huffs a breath. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he says, sounding utterly destroyed. The tears that have been threatening to fall since they got here finally start to, sliding slow down Michael’s cheeks. “That you can ruin me like no one else can or that you don’t even fucking know you’re doing it.”

A helpless sound escapes Alex as he reaches forward to wipe away Michael’s tears. The second his hand caresses the curve of his cheek, Michael’s face crumples as a sob escapes him. Michael pitches forward and Alex wraps his arms fiercely around him, guiding his face into his own shoulder.

Alex’s heart aches as Michael’s body is wracked with hiccuping cries, the collar of his shirt soaking up all of his tears. It takes longer than it probably should for Alex to realize that he’s crying too.

Michael’s knees start to buckle and Alex barely tightens his hold in time to stop him from collapsing to the floor. His sobs continue for what feels like hours before slowly dying down. Once he’s steadier on his feet, Alex shuffles them back until Michael’s legs hit the edge of the bed. He lies down willingly, curling into himself in the middle of the bed with a pillow hugged to his chest.

Alex pulls Michael’s boots off and tosses them aside before sitting on the edge of the bed and working on his own. He’s going to be there a while, so he takes his jeans and his leg off, leaning the prosthetic within reach against the wall and draping his liner over it. He doesn’t bother trying to clean it; he’s got an extra one in his car for emergencies.

When he turns around, he sees Michael looking at him. There’s an indiscernible expression on his face and tears are still leaking from his eyes. He scoots back on the bed to give Alex room to lie down without a word. Alex reclines on his back and holds his left arm out in a silent invitation.

Michael shoves the pillow aside and wriggles closer to Alex until he’s pressed right up against him. Alex wraps his arms around him again without hesitation, one hand cradling the back of his skull, fingers twined in his soft curls, and the other gently rubbing his back.

Alex isn’t sure how long they lie there, clinging to each other as Michael releases all the pent up grief and pain he’s been harboring, but eventually his tears dry up and his breathing evens out.

Alex thinks he’s finally asleep when he presses a kiss to his forehead and whispers, “I love you so much.”

Michael goes very still in his arms before he makes a muffled keening sound and starts to shake again with quiet little sobs. Alex’s heart freezes in his chest.

“Oh, baby, no,” he pleads, reaching down to wipe away Michael’s fresh tears. God, why is he always doing the wrong thing? “I didn’t mean to make you cry again. Please don’t cry.”

Michael just shakes his head and clings to him tighter, burying his face in Alex’s chest.

“It’s okay, shhh, you’re okay,” he soothes, resuming the back rubs he had been giving him before. “We’re gonna get through this, I promise.”

Alex continues talking to him softly, whatever he can think of to calm him. He wishes he could grab the blanket and bundle Michael up for an added layer of security, but Michael seems to be doing his best to burrow into his ribcage and Alex would rather die than move an inch. He doesn’t cry for much longer, thankfully, and when those horrible hitching sobs finally peter out, Alex shifts him onto his side so he can reach around him for the blanket.

He pulls it tight around the both of them before moving further into Michael’s space, until they’re chest to chest. He tucks Michael’s head under his chin and goes back to rubbing firm circles on his back.

“Will you…” Michael starts hesitantly, fingers gripping the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. His voice so hoarse he barely gets the words out.

“Hmm?” Alex encourages him when he doesn’t continue.

“Be here when I wake up?” he finishes.

“Is that what you want?” Alex will be whether he wants him to be or not, but the selfish part of him that’s put his heart on the line wants to know.

Alex feels Michael nod his head. “Please,” he begs, like he doesn’t think he’ll get what he wants. It’s a soft, heart-wrenching sound. “S’all I’ve ever wanted.”

Alex closes his eyes, willing his own tears away. He pulls Michael a little closer, kisses the wild mess of curls on top of his head.

“Of course I’ll stay with you,” Alex assures him. Michael lets out a relieved breath against his collarbone, tension starting to withdraw from his body. “Now go to sleep, Michael. We can talk more in the morning.”

The next morning, Alex wakes to sunlight filtering softly into the Airstream through the newspaper on the windows. He’s well-rested for the first time in what feels like years, Michael’s warmth next to him last night having eased his nightmares considerably. Alex reaches blindly for Michael beside him, but his hand hits nothing but mattress.

He frowns, opening his eyes fully and looking around. The sheets beneath his palm are cold, he realizes, and Michael is nowhere to be found. It’s then that he notices the empty bottles of acetone lined up on the counter across from him by the sink.

A horrible, coldness sinks into his gut.

“Guerin?” he calls out, trying to get a handle on his panic, just in case he’s in the bathroom or something and there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he seems to have downed enough nail polish remover to kill a horse. No answer.

Alex is reaching for his jeans, determined to go after him, when the door of the Airstream swings open. Michael walks in wearing the same white long-sleeve shirt and jeans he was wearing last night, looking at his cell phone.

“Oh, hey. You’re awake,” Michael points out when he sees Alex sitting up. He looks a little unsure of himself.

“Where’d you go?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Thankfully, Michael doesn’t take them as an accusation.

“I had to take a call,” Michael says, walking over to the bed. He sits down on the edge in front of him. Michael must be able to read something on his face because he adds, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Iz called. She felt me last night and wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “Are you?” Alex gestures vaguely to the bottles of nail polish remover on the counter.

“Oh shit, that’s _not_ what it looks like,” Michael jumps up and scoops the bottles off the counter and tosses them into the small garbage can he keeps in the cabinet below the sink. “I dumped them down the drain, promise. I didn’t drink any of it.”

Alex searches his face for any trace of a lie and finds none.

Alex sighs in relief, his eyes slipping closed. He feels the bed shift under him and when he opens his eyes Michael is sitting in front of him again. “So you’re giving it up for good?”

Michael nods. “That’s the idea.”

Alex is tempted to ask what changed his mind—whether the breakdown itself caused an epiphany or if something he’d said had actually helped—but he realizes it doesn’t matter. The only thing that’s important is that Michael’s taken his first step onto a better path.

“That’s really great,” he smiles supportively. “I know it’s hard, but you’re making the right choice. You’ll be a lot happier once you kick the habit.”

“M’not doing it for me,” Michael says.

Alex tilts his head in confusion.

“Turns out I’ve got some people in my life who want me to stick around,” he says nonchalantly, but the look he’s giving Alex is anything but. Alex feels his stomach flutter. “I don’t want to let them down more than I already have.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Alex says, though it doesn’t feel like enough, doesn’t even begin to cover the relief and hope he feels at those words. Michael smiles at him and he thinks maybe he understands.

They look at each other a moment longer, neither of them speaking, until Michael breaks the silence.

“Listen, about last night…” Michael starts, eyes shifting down to look at the loose thread hanging from his left sleeve that he’s started playing with. “Thank you, for staying. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I really did,” Alex disagrees. “I meant what I said, Michael,” Alex says, and Michael looks back at him abruptly, his eyes betraying a sliver of hope. “You’re my family. No matter what’s going on between us—or _not_ going on, I guess—I hope you know I’ll be there for you whenever you need me.”

Michael looks at him for a long minute, eyes glistening with emotion, before he nods, ducking his head a little. “That goes both ways, you know?”

“I know,” he says. Even when they weren’t speaking to each other, Alex never doubted that if he really needed Michael he would be there.

“And look, I, um, I owe you an apology.” Michael visibly steels himself for what he’s about to say, sitting up a little straighter. “I hurt you and I’m sorry. I’m so _fucking_ sorry, Alex. I’m not expecting you to forgive me, but—“

“Michael, stop,” Alex interrupts. “Can we make a deal?”

Michael looks a little thrown, but asks “What kind of deal?”

Alex takes a deep breath.

“Can we just agree that both of us have made mistakes? I won’t pretend to understand why you didn’t meet me that morning, or why you went to _Maria_ of all people, but from where I’m sitting none of that matters. Yeah, you stood me up, and _yeah_ you hit on one of my best friends, which felt really fucking shitty, but I’ve been disappointing you for years,” Alex’s voice wavers slightly and Michael makes a noise like he disagrees.

“Alex,” he says, his brow drawn together and his head tilting to one side.

“My point is,” Alex continues, “we’ve both fucked up, and I don’t want to waste the rest of our lives being angry at each other. I don’t know about you, but I am _so_ _tired_ of being angry. It’s not worth it. You’re too… important to me. So if you can forgive me, I can forgive you.”

Michael’s eyes are wet when he reaches for Alex’s hand. “Of course I can forgive you. Alex, you’re…” Michael struggles to find the words before he settles on, “everything.”

He says it with such conviction, like it’s a simple fact of the universe, that Alex feels his own eyes brimming with tears. God, they’re a fucking mess. How can two people mean so much to each other and yet spend so much time feeling like they’re on different wavelengths?

Alex is done with miscommunication and things being left unsaid. He needs to lay it all on the table right now or he never will.

“I meant the other thing I said last night too,” Alex says, looking down at their joined hands, his gut clenching with nerves. Michael’s thumb rubbing idly against the back of his hand while he patiently waits for the rest of what he’s trying to say gives Alex the strength to continue. He meets Michael’s eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “I love you.”

The thumb caressing his hand stops moving. Alex thinks Michael stops _breathing_ for a second before his face breaks into a wide, teary smile. That smile makes something in Alex’s chest crack wide open, pouring out slow and sticky and warm. He can’t ever go back from this. Michael hasn’t even said anything, but looking at that smile he just _knows_ he feels the same, and, God, Alex will be Michael’s until they put him in the fucking ground.

“I thought I dreamed that,” Michael whispers, something between a laugh and sob erupting from his chest. “You love me? Present tense?”

“I love you so much it terrifies me,” Alex confesses.

Michael makes a wounded sound, squeezing Alex’s hand tighter. “Why?”

“Why do I love you?” he asks, like it’s an absurd question.

“No, why does it scare you so much?”

“Trauma?” Alex guesses. “I don’t know, but… I’m done letting fear hold me back. If you’re serious about quitting drinking and making positive changes then I think we owe it to each other and ourselves to give this—_us_—a real shot.”

“Really?” Michael asks, eyes wide and vulnerable. Fuck, he’s adorable.

“_Yes_,” he says. “I want to be with you, Michael. Not just as friends or friends with benefits or whatever you want to call what we’ve been doing the last ten years. I want a real, committed relationship. I want to be your partner and—” Michael cuts Alex off abruptly by leaning in and pressing their lips together in a hungry, demanding kiss.

Alex knows he should probably pump the brakes a little, wait for them to go on an actual date and take things slow this time around, but he can’t help but moan softly and open his mouth to Michael’s insistent tongue. Michael doesn’t stop there, though, and leans further into Alex’s space until his back is forced up against the little half wall that serves as Michael’s headboard. Michael climbs into his lap, slotting his thighs on either side of Alex’s hips, and Alex loses all mental faculties for a solid minute, his entire world narrowing to the beautiful man squirming on top of him.

“I love you,” Michael gasps when they finally break apart for air. He steals another kiss. “Have since I was seventeen. There’s never been anyone else for me, Alex,” Michael says, the hand that had wound up twisted in his hair sliding down to rest against his neck. “It’s always been you.”

Alex tugs Michael back into a kiss, heart full like it’s never been before. He lets Michael direct the kiss, happy to sit back and let him take charge for the moment. Michael nibbles his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, and Alex thinks he could die like this.

Michael drives his hips down into Alex’s, instinctively seeking relief for his cock, now hard and straining against the confines of his jeans. Alex moans, finding himself in a similar situation. He wants nothing more than to push Michael backwards onto the bed and rut their cocks together until they both come like teenagers, but he finds himself stilling Michael’s hips with his hands. He pulls back panting and is pleased to find Michael looking properly debauched, his hair a wild mess and his lips red and wet.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but should we slow down?” Michael looks properly offended at the idea. “I mean, I don’t _want_ to, but we’re starting over, right? This feels a little like third date material,” Alex says, running a palm down the length of Michael’s chest, enjoying the way Michael’s eyes slip closed at his touch.

“I mean, technically, I fucked you on our _first_ date,” Michael smirks with heavy-lidded eyes, and Alex pinches his nipple. Michael yelps, his hips bucking forward of their own volition.

“Doesn’t count,” Alex complains. “I was thinking dinner, somewhere public.”

Michael’s eyes widen a little, a surprised and wistful smile taking over his face.

“I want that,” Michael says, curling his fingers into the front of Alex’s shirt. “I want to take you out, anywhere you want. I want to show you off, let the whole damn town know you’re mine, but… how about we do that tomorrow? I’ve wasted enough time not kissing you.”

Alex fixes him with a radiant smile. “You drive a hard bargain, Guerin,” he says, wrapping his arms around Michael’s waist, encouraging him to get even closer.

“Why don’t you let me show you just how hard,” Michael says, grinding his cock against him. Alex laughs and pulls Michael forward into his space, capturing his lips in another kiss.

This doesn’t fix all of their problems, not by a long shot. Michael is still grieving, he’s still an addict with crippling abandonment issues. Alex has a lifetime of abuse to work through, nevermind the trauma of his lost limb. He’s ready for it though. He wants to share in Michael’s sorrow and pain and joy and pleasure because they’re _family_ and he’s starting to realize that that’s what family does.

Their road won’t be easy, but the best things never are.

**Author's Note:**

> <strike>I could be persuaded to write a smutty epilogue, either directly following the ending here or like at some nebulous time in the future after they've adjusted to their new relationship. Idk lemme know if you're interested.</strike>   
I was persuaded to write a smutty epilogue! Go check it out, it's the next in the series!
> 
> Also, find me on tumblr! @prouvaireafterdark


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